Scales and Mirrors
We are on the cusp of another life transition, from one-on-one defense to a household of three wee men under the age of five. There is grace arriving in the spring and summer, when my feral cabin-fevered four and two-year old will be able to romp about the backyard. This may mean cats and hummingbirds will be terrorized and our strawberries will be pulled with great pride because, “mama, look at these weeds!” It will all be taken in stride. There will be no rush to return life to normal, because what is normal? I know the world outside will be knocking, begging us to keep up and I will want to. I will hear, “What are you doing? You should/could be doing more!”... when in truth, we can stop shoulding on ourselves.
Baby Clements #3 at the twenty-week ultrasound.
Speaking of “shoulding”, it has been a minute since I have posted anything to this platform. To be frank, it’s hard showing up when your body is building a brain or some fingernails in a day. But I am now on the other side of the pregnancy bell curve, the second trimester zoomies have faded and once again I feel the fatigue creeping back but this time there is no first-trimester hiding. Instead we have entered the nesting phase. I say we because Lucas absolutely experiences sympathy pregnancy symptoms. His nesting has been remodeling bathrooms, installing a dishwasher and replumbing the home and getting the house re-roofed.. This pregnancy, his focus is on the garden and his project is a fence for our vegetable patch. We are, in vain, attempting to save our leafy friends from little hands. We’ll keep you posted on the progress. I on the other hand am organizing (re: sorting and purging) any children's clothing and toys that do not bring joy. There is much that brings little joy I have learned.
The process has spread to the linen closet, the kitchen cabinets and even the bathrooms. Which brought me to an interesting discovery. I have never owned nor do we currently own a floor length mirror. None. We have two mirrors that hang above our sinks in the bathrooms and there is an old mirror that sits on top of a vanity in our bedroom. Bringing the grand total of mirrors to three in our house. If I ever wanted to see an outfit as a whole I would stand on my toilet and crouch with half the medicine cabinet mirror open showing me a third of my body. I’d get the idea and change if necessary. Well after a short discussion with Lucas, the decision was made and a mirror was purchased. It wasn’t until after I clicked “buy” I remembered why I’ve intentionally never owned a floor length mirror.
Selfies were also another helpful tool to “see” an outfit in the bathroom.
In fact there was a second bathroom item I found during the nesting purge that made me do a double take, a scale. Lucas bought it two or three years ago, I don’t recall when or why and the fact it was irrelevant at the time could have given me pause for celebration. Scales and mirrors were never out right band, but I was not their friend for years most notably in college. This poor relationship began in high school, as most girls would likely attest to. See a troublesome thing occurs to a girls’ body when it transforms into a woman’s through puberty, it has the audacity to gain fat. My body got the double header of hitting puberty while I stepped down from year-round swimming. I went from having a ten-year-old boy’s body with muscle to having a healthy sixteen-year-old girl’s body. Dressing rooms became the next level of hell. (They’re still bad, someone needs to explain to stores the benefits of low lighting.)
By the time I got to college I had picked up the handy habit of not eating, or not eating enough. Which only got me so far in Division I college swimming. Soon enough I came to understand the power of a little practice called bulimia. I felt in control, until I wasn’t. College swimming made me strong, but all I saw was “bulk” in the mirror and a high number on the scale. How I wish I could go back and tell twenty-year old me the beauty of muscle, the gift it is. By the end of my junior year, my body was worn down from the self-abuse and God lovingly had enough. He placed people in my life who brought me back to church, back home to Him. Very slowly, over the course of a decade my relationship with food and my body began to heal.
The reality is, my story isn’t unique or special, “twenty-nine million Americans experience a clinically significant eating disorder during their lifetime” according to the National Alliance for Eating Disorders. Disordered eating sadly is just a symptom to something deeper occuring in the heart, and for the longest time, understanding the root cause was too painful to dissect and understand. To be clear, I wanted to be free of an eating disorder but more importantly I wanted to understand why I felt so out of control, why I was so hurt, so lonely, I was willing to treat my body with such little regard. My relationship with food is a product of understanding who I am in light of Christ. More accurately how I see my body is a direct correlation to God’s personal care and walk with me, in other words, sanctification.
As Lucas and I joked about finally being “adults and buying a mirror” I was stopped to consider, “what if?”. What if Christ didn’t take my disordered eating away? What if, even as a thirty-four year old woman I struggled with my body and its shape, would God still be good? I have walked with him closely now for thirteen years, and with full assurance I can say yes because thankfully my hope does not come from what I see in a mirror. My value does not come from what I read on a scale. Who I am is founded in something that is “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading” (1 Peter 1:4). Which is even greater news when considering I’m only getting older and wrinklier from here.
After giving birth to Hudson and Jack, I was amazed at God’s design for the female body. We are literal transformers. I was filled with gratitude for the power of this body He has given me. I was shown how He sees me, a child that he crafted intentionally. So who am I to criticize His design? As I nurtured and cared for my sons, God showed me how to be gentle and kind, how to nurture myself. Without trying I stopped objectifying my body as something to either worship or criticize. Instead it simply evolved into its intended design, a vessel for someone far more beautiful and powerful than myself.
It is absolutely in God’s nature, humor and timing for us to have bought the floor length mirror now. Everyday, my swollen body paces past the mirror and I see the stretch marks on my belly. I have a full view of the growing varicose veins running down my right leg. It is a reminder that I am not what I see. I am creating and holding new life in me, something far more beautiful and powerful than lean limbs or smooth skin. Soon enough I will be shuffling past with a newborn in my arms, while wearing the illustrious mesh hospital underwear, unshowered and exhausted. I will see the deflated belly in full and I will be invited with the same opportunity to observe truth. It will be a moment to either doubt what God says about me or trust His words.
When the “bump” felt like a bump but in retrospect was non-existent.
The journey with scales and mirrors started harshly and as much as I could blame the world for telling me those harsh lies, I took the bait. I believed it all. Thankfully God revealed those lies and gave me time, lots of time to heal by revealing how gentle, good and kind He is. Which in turn showed me who I am, because He not only resides in me but He is the source of my imperishable, undefiled and unfading worth. He is my hope and my inheritance and I get to believe Him. Over scales. Over mirrors. It’s the choice I am invited into daily.
“For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.”Galatians 5:1
